The majority of my close friends are Asian American, so for many years most group social gatherings began and ended with Korean food. Back in college, we feasted on fried chicken while singing poorly and loudly at the K-town karaoke bar; I was never sure the morning after whether my sore throat was from belting out 90’s pop or from shivering in the 3am cold waiting for cabs back home. Just as popular was a little bar called Soop Bin that was lax on ID and generous with snacks. The last time I went there, one of my close friends taught us Korean drinking games, the rules of which were blurred by soju but somehow always resulted in her winning and everyone else downing more liquor.

Even after graduation K-town remained the default choice. For a while we frequented an all-you-can-eat K-BBQ place, ending up there once a week for a year-long run. Undeterred by the fact that it wasn't a BYOB, the boys in the group would hide liquor wrapped in dubious paper bags under the table. We’d whisk it out whenever a waiter wasn’t nearby, but as each night progressed we'd become less subtle refilling our glasses and begin acting suspiciously rowdy for a group ordering only soda. The manager would politely remind us of the policy against outside alcohol and we’d nod dopily at him and order a reconciliatory pitcher of beer.

I’ve actually stopped drinking entirely over the past year and a half – which is a separate story in itself –but I still think of those nights with a lot of nostalgia. Firstly, it’s nice to remember the days when our metabolisms processed calories from alcohol and buffets at lightning speed. But more importantly, performing horrendously off-key renditions of Backstreet Boys classics is a sure-fire way to put friendships on the fast track.

In honor of those hazy nights I made these japchae baos. They lie somewhere between drunk food and acceptably wholesome meal, a gray area that most Asian food seems to occupy. Japchae is a Korean sweet potato noodle dish tossed with ground beef and various vegetables, typically including carrot, peppers, white onion, and spinach. It's all tied together by an irresistibly fragrant sesame oil and soy sauce blend that coats each slick noodle.

Today’s baos contain all the traditional ingredients (with the ratio of beef to noodles adjusted up); I pan-fried them to get a crispy bottom crust, then let them steam to finish cooking. What makes these baos so special is that the hefty amount of vegetable releases quite a lot of water, so each bite is incredibly juicy. They’re perfect for that unplanned fourth meal.

Japchae Bao Recipe (serves 4-5)

Ingredients

5 cups flour (I used a mix of white whole wheat / white AP flour, but feel free to use all white AP)

Prepare the dough: Mix together the flour and salt. In a separate bowl, add sugar and yeast to the water and let it sit until foamy and fragrant, around 5-10 min. When the yeast is done proofing, pour into the flour and salt mixture, and mix until combined. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 10 minutes, until the dough becomes smooth and tacky and doesn't stick to the surface or your hands. Additional flour should not be necessary beyond 1-2 tbsp. Oil a bowl and turn the dough ball in the oil so it's lightly coated, then cover and set aside in a warm draft-free location.

Let the dough rise: It should take about an hour, but will not fully double.

Meanwhile, prepare the filling: Roughly chop the sweet potato noodles into 1-inch long segments. Chop the scallions, white onion, garlic, ginger, pepper, mushrooms and carrot very finely. Chop the wilted spinach as well. Mix the chopped vegetables, sesame oil, soy sauce, sugar, and rice wine into the ground beef; the beef should barely hold everything together. If more binding is needed, mix in a raw egg. Set aside, refrigerated, while the dough rises.

Once the dough has risen: Punch the dough down, turn it out onto a board and knead it for another 5 minutes. This will distribute the air bubbles in the dough evenly. Divide into 16 or 32 even pieces.

Assemble: On a floured surface, roll each piece of dough into a thin circle with the center remaining slightly thicker than the edges. It's easiest to roll from the center of the dough and turn it gradually to maintain a circular shape. Place 1-2 tbsp of filling into the center of the circle, and wrap according to this video. The thinner and drier the dough is, the easier it is to wrap, but a more hydrated dough will be fluffier!

Cook in batches: Heat oil in a nonstick pan over medium high to high heat. Place the baos in the pan with 1-2 in of space between them. When the bottom of the baos becomes crispy (~1-2 min), turn down the heat to low or medium low, then add a splash of water (keep the lid tilted over the pot so nothing splashes in your face). Cover, and let steam for 8 minutes (10-12 min for larger bao).

Sometimes it was hard to distinguish between Asian and Western at our family dinner table. We grilled mantou in olive oil, topped buttered bagels with savory rousong, and mixed Ovaltine in soy milk. When it came to fish, however, the classifications were obvious. Fish with head - Asian. Fish without head - Western.

The Asian form mostly was Chinese hong shao yu, an entire fish fried and drenched in a soy sauce mixture sticky with caramelized sugar. These dinners would be quiet affairs as we cautiously chewed each bite, wary of stray bones. After one side had been picked clean, my parents would flip the entire fish on the plate to access the other half. Keeping the tender meat intact in the process - using only spindly chopsticks, I might add - required dexterity, teamwork, and conviction. As such, my ever trusting parents wouldn't actually let me participate in the Flipping of the Fish until I was halfway through high school. On the other hand, Western fillets were much simpler to contemplate. They came from the grocery store de-boned and in a manageable rectangular prism form. I thought of salmon as quintessentially American: always drowning in butter, served in individual portions rather than family-style, and eaten with a fork and knife.

These days I'm much more likely to encounter a Japanese-style fish than any other - it seems like every restaurant has a miso-glazed fish or tuna poke appetizer on its menu. I prefer the briny flavor of dashi, a Japanese stock made from dried seaweed and bonito flakes; what makes it even more enticing is that it requires only minutes of stove time to make. Dashi infuses everything with umami depth but can go from pleasant to overkill very quickly, so I like it best when it's more of a heavy scent than a bold taste.

In this claypot, the fragrance of the dashi rice supports the true flavor carriers: salmon and shiitake mushrooms. An egg, steamed until a just barely firm and still quite viscous, finishes cooking when it's mixed through the warm rice and fish and gives everything a custardy texture. Lightly wilted spinach and edamame are for crunch and freshness. And despite the fact that there's no fish head in sight, this recipe is as traditionally Asian as it gets! Here I'm happy to disprove my childhood rule of physical form defining cultural identity.

Make dashi stock (optional): Soak the kombu and the shiitake mushroom overnight, or at least 30 minutes. After the soaking, remove the shiitake mushroom and heat the kombu & water until bubbles form at the edges - do NOT let the water boil or the water will get slimy and bitter. Remove the kombu and set aside (can be used to make another round of mild dashi stock). Add 1/2 cup katsuobushi flakes and bring the stock mixture up to a boil for a minute. Remove from heat to cool, and set aside for 30 minutes until all the dashi flakes sink to the bottom. Strain; this should make ~3 1/2 cups of dashi stock of which you will use 1 - 2 depending on rice type.

Marinate the salmon: Combine the soy sauce, rice wine, rice vinegar and scallion from the first ingredients list and toss the salmon cubes in the marinade. Set aside in the refrigerator.

Prep the rice and vegetables: Heat oil in a claypot over medium heat. Saute edamame and shiitake mushrooms for 1 minute, then add in the rice. Stir to combine. Pour in the dashi stock, soy sauce, and rice wine. Cover, and turn up the heat to high until the water is boiling. Once it reaches a boil, turn down and maintain a gentle simmer for about 40 minutes. Check every few minutes starting at 30 minutes. When the rice has soaked up almost all the liquid but a thin layer remains at the top, it's time to add the salmon.

Add the salmon: There should be about 5-8 minutes left for the rice to fully cook. Add the salmon to the pot, mix to combine. Cover and let it simmer for around 5 minutes, or until the fish cubes are just starting to turn a matte pale pink color and flake slightly, but interior is still a little shiny and dark. With about 2 minutes left in cook time, crack in the egg and add in the chopped spinach. Cover and let everything complete cooking.

Note: The egg will not be fully cooked; the yolk and white will still be runny but the residual heat from the rice and salmon will cook it more completely when it's all mixed together. It adds more of a custardy texture to the rice, which you can omit if you don't like.

Serve: Season with bonito or furikake seasoning and mix the egg yolk/white through the rice pot.

It’s been over a decade since The Kite Runner was first published, and although it spent nearly two years on the NYT best-seller list I never got around to reading it. My mom thought the subject material too disturbing for a twelve year old, so at the peak of its popularity The Kite Runner occupied the Inappropriate category of my mental library (subcategory: Scary). Eventually I just forgot about it.

Her reasoning made sense at the time – I thought some of the Harry Potter books were frightening enough, and The Kite Runner actually has plausible antagonists. (Yes, I was kind of a wimp.) More awkwardly, the parental shield didn’t just block stories of violence and war, but those of sex and romance as well. This was tested to its limits during our weekend family TV nights when we’d barrel through soapy Chinese dramas until the sun rose. While most of the material was relatively benign, every few episodes would have inevitable romantic escalation that was Not OK in the eyes of conservative Chinese parents. As part of his diversion efforts, my dad became very good at making sesame bagels from scratch; they’d emerge hot and buttered just in time to divert attention from the scenes on-screen. He’ll likely claim that correlation isn’t causation here, but I find it suspicious that as I grew older the movie nights continued and the bagels did not.

I recently remembered The Kite Runner again and ended up reading all three of Khaled Hosseini’s novels in quick succession. I'll admit the delay has brought me to an age when I'm more able to appreciate them. While his narratives contain shocking content, Hosseini's diction is devoid of sentimentality or voyeurism, making the web of relationships between friends and family the central focus. I like this kind of book, which explores foreign cultures without any "othering" and tragic circumstances without being melodramatic. Read all three and you'll notice some similarities: Hosseini writes what he knows, so the characters live in Kabul and immigrate to the Bay Area. And on a less serious note, each novel has devoted at least couple of paragraphs to the Afghan kabob! I found myself craving deep, fragrant Middle Eastern spices during my Hosseini book binge; taste and smell, after all, are the most powerfully evocative senses.

So after much reading while snacking on kabobs and flatbreads, I ended up developing my own Afghan-inspired dish. Kabuli Pulao is a national dish of Afghanistan, made by steaming rice mixed with spices, aromatics, and meat then topped with fried carrots, nuts, and raisins. I simply swapped out the traditional long-grained rice with sticky rice, which I love for its texture and ability to soak up flavor. The result had the warm, penetrating heat characteristic of Middle Eastern dishes, cut through with bursts of sweetness. Food inspired by a story tells one too.

The next day, begin by browning the chicken: Heat a large pan or Dutch oven to medium high heat and add the chicken and marinade. Stir until the chicken is browned, 3-5 minutes, and then remove from heat and set aside. There will be browned bits remaining in the pan; deglaze with the 1/2 cup chicken stock and reduce heat to low.

Create flavor base for rice: Add tomato paste and chopped onion to the pan, stir until the onions are just translucent. Turn off the heat. Drain the rice and pour the rice, along with 1/2 of the raisins, into the pan; mix until the rice is fully coated with the stock and flavorful oil. Finally, mix in the chicken and the resting juices.

Steam: Line a steamer basket with the leaves of choice. Fill it with the rice and chicken mixture, and steam over low heat for 1 - 1 1/2 hours, or until the rice is quite tender and sticky.

Prepare the garnish: Saute the remaining raisins, grated carrot, and pistachios over medium high heat until the carrots are tender and the raw edge is off, ~3 minutes.

Serve: Top the sticky rice with the garnish, and enjoy with hot sauce and/or yogurt sauce.

My parents' formative years were in the midst of the Cultural Revolution. They spent most of their childhoods in the countryside in spartan conditions hard to imagine today. For my mother, oranges were unspeakably precious and savored in tiny bites on special occasions; my dad was able to spot and catch small fish swimming in the flooded rice paddies of his hometown.

Experiences like these instilled a careful minimalist culture into the Chinese immigrant wave of the 80's and 90's. Purchases were carefully considered, haggled, delayed. This was true of our own household and particularly in our kitchen - which is unquestionably good and prudent in many cases. Why buy single-purpose gadgets? There are actually individual tools for apple coring, avocado de-seeding, and cherry pitting; I reject them with little regret. But there are some kitchen appliances that I've invested in that were never considered critical, or even relevant, to my parents' kitchen. Areas of potential disagreement would be blenders, mixers, and most recently... a waffle iron!

I firmly believe the waffle iron transcends single-use appliance status, and I'm en route to proving it. Waffles aren't just for lazy weekend brunches - just look at the popularity of the Instagram hashtag #willitwaffle and you'll see use cases galore. (Side note: a little absurd that in this post I've gone from talking about foraging in the countryside to documenting meals on social media four decades later.) A waffle has the versatility of flatbread but with shorter cooking time and higher entertainment value. It's all crispy edges and plush flavor-absorbing pockets, the perfect vehicle for toppings savory or sweet.

This particular chicken & waffle combination has a lot going on. The waffle is made with mildly nutty millet flour and loaded with sesame, scallion and five-spice - all common in various Chinese pancakes and bread recipes. I topped the waffles with chicken sauteed in shacha paste, a dried shrimp-based sauce hefty with briny umami and husky garlic flavors. Chicken skin cracklins, crispy fried shallots, and sauteed yuchoy added crunch and bite. The whole combination can be folded in half and messily devoured, each luxurious bite the complete antithesis of minimalism.

The waffle maker is now crammed in a cupboard between my popsicle molds and vegetable spiralizer. I intend to make ample use of it - thank you #willitwaffle! - but how circuitous, and how lucky, to be able to justify consumption with consumption.

1 small bunch of yu choy, or any other greens, chopped with the tough stalks removed

2 cloves garlic, minced

1 tbsp soy sauce

Crispy fried shallots

Ingredients: Waffle

1 cup millet flour

1/2 cup all purpose flour

1/2 cup whole wheat flour

2 tsp sugar

2 tsp baking powder

1/2 tsp salt

1 tsp five spice powder

2 eggs, beaten

1 3/4 cup milk

1/2 cup oil, plus more for waffle iron

1 scallion

2 tbsp sesame seeds

Make the chicken skin cracklins: Carefully remove the skins, dry with a paper towel, and slice into vertical strips. Place them in a single layer in a cold, dry, nonstick pan. Turn the heat to low - the fat will slowly render out and the chicken skins will begin to dry up. Gradually turn up the heat, up to medium high, and wait for the chicken skins to begin to curl and turn golden and crispy. Remove the chicken cracklins to a paper towel lined plate and blot them dry. They will continue to crisp up as they air dry; when they are fully dry you can salt/pepper/season them as you wish. Discard all but a tablespoon of the rendered chicken fat.

Make the shacha sauce: Mix shacha sauce, rice wine, soy sauce, and fish sauce with the rendered chicken fat. Set aside 1/2 of this mixture, thinning it with water as needed, as a dipping sauce for the waffles when serving.

Marinate the chicken: Slice the chicken into bite-size strips and mix it with the remaining shacha sauce mixture. Marinate for ~30 minutes. Meanwhile, make the waffle batter and saute the yu choy.

Make the waffle batter: Combine dry ingredients (through five spice powder) in a large bowl and mix thoroughly. In a separate bowl, mix the beaten egg, milk, and oil. Form a well in the dry ingredients and pour in the wet ingredients; mix until just combined and not lumpy, taking care to not over-mix otherwise the waffles will be tough. Set aside and refrigerate.

Cook the yu choy: Heat garlic over high heat until lightly fragrant. Add the yu choy and soy sauce, saute over high heat until stalks are tender and the leaves are wilted. Set aside, covered, to stay warm.

Cook the chicken: Heat oil in a saute pan over high heat, and toss in the marinated chicken. Stir-fry until cooked through, and set aside, covered, while you cook the waffles.

Make the waffles: Lightly grease a waffle iron. Pour in the batter (amount will vary depending on your waffle iron), then sprinkle in scallions and sesame seeds evenly. Cook the waffle according to device directions. With my waffle iron I made four large circular waffles. For waffles not eaten immediately, keep them warm in the oven.

the blog

Knead for Perspective is a blog devoted to food and food narratives. Most recipes are hybrids of the tastes and techniques of various different cultures, and reflect my experiences as an Asian American.